om did not answer. To save his life he couldn't have answered just then,
his breath utterly gone.

"Wha' yo' want heah, anyway?" insisted Sambo, giving the youth a vicious
shake.

There was blood before the negro's eyes, or he would sooner have
recognized his victim. But at last he did see.

"So, I'se gwine cotch Mistah Reade himself!" snorted Sambo. "An' Ah
reckon I'se gwine foun' de differculty wid my magernetto at de same
time! Huh?"

Again he shook Tom, with an ease and yet a force that further drove the
breath from the young engineer's body.

"Why doan' yo' talk!" glared the negro, holding Tom out at arm's length
with one hand.

Tom could only groan. Yet that method of communication carried its own
explanation to the big black.

"Reckon yo' gwine talk w'en yo' get gale enough in yo' lungs," grinned the
negro. "In dat case Ah gwine lay yo' down on de groun' to fin' yo' breff."

Sambo's idea of laying Tom down was to give him a violent twist that
brought the lad flat on the ground at his captor's feet. Then the negro
sat on his captive to make sure that the latter did not escape.

"Take yo' time---ah got plenty," grimaced the black man.

Slowly the beaten-out breath came back to Tom Reade. Sambo, watching, knew
finally that his quarry was at last able to talk.

"Wha' yo' do to mah magernetto?" demanded Sambo.

"Guess," breathed Tom.

"Oh, take yo' time, boss. Ah got plenty ob dat accommerdation"

"What magneto are you talking about?" Reade queried innocently.

"Nebber heard ob it befo', eh, boss?"

"I've heard of plenty of magnetos, of course," admitted Tom. "But what
have you to do with one?"

For a brief instant Sambo was almost inclined to believe that Reade did
not fully know his secret. Finally it dawned on the brain of the big
black man that he was being hoaxed.

"Ef yo' doan wanter tell, yo' doan hab to, ob co'se," proposed Sambo. "It
ain't mah way to be too persistency wid de w'ite quality gemmen. But Ah
done thought maybe yo' know somethin' dat yo's burnin' to tell."

"Who are you, and what are you doing around here?" asked Tom. "I'm certain
you don't belong to my force of workmen---unless you just joined
yesterday. Are you working on the breakwater job?"

"Yessah," promptly answered Sambo with momentary gravity. Then his mood
changed to a chuckle.

"Dat am all right, Massa Reade," he allowed. "But yo' doan' fool dis
nigger as easy as yo' maybe think. Ah know what